Zealand

13. Below the Tower

Monday, 3rd September 1666

I awoke confused by the gentle rocking and the roof so close above me. Then as I turned, the softness of my feather bed brought memories of spreading it here beneath the side deck. And that was after supping. And that was after fleeing from the fire.

Daylight streamed through the space between the two tarpawlings, and my pisser was stiff from the need to drain it. As I rolled out from under the deck, Captain said, "You slept long, lad. It approaches eight of the clock."

"Sorry, sir." I fetched up my breeches and stepped into them. "It shan't happen again."

He chuckled. "Nay, lad. Not a judgement, only an observation. We both had an arduous day, and I have not myself been up that long." He pointed forward. "Only so long to set up the heads, and –"

"The heads, sir?"

"The bows of a ship, lad. That is where the crew go to piss and to hang their arses over the gunwales."

When I finished dressing, I went forward and ducked under the edge of the pawling into the bright day. I was relieved to see Captain's house still standing, the fire only halfway from Botolph Wharf. But beyond, it blazed with even more vigour than I remembered. And spread farther. Now, well above Eastcheap, maybe to Fenchurch.

After staring at the conflagration for a long time, my urge called, and I sat next to the buckets, basin and soap. Much more comfort here than at the mews.

When I returned inside, Captain had set laden plates on the table, and he was at one of the firkins, drawing ale into the tankards. He turned his head and said, "Sit ye down at the table, lad." He looked back at the firkin and continued, "With no fire, we cannot make tae, but we must drink, and there remains in our goatskin[1] too little for us both.

He finished and set the tankards on the table, then he held the goatskin above mine and unbound the opening to let flow a stream. "But for one so young and slight, your ale must be watered, else your mind and body will fuddle."

"And when we run out of water, sir?"

"After we breakfast, we will sail downriver to fetch some fresh."

"But the fire? Are you not concerned to watch the safety of your house?"

"Our watching will not alter its advance, nor will it safeguard any of my houses." He set my tankard by my plate and shrugged. "Rather, it will only increase my pother. I prefer to look at more pleasant things and allow my mind some ease."

As he sat, he said, "Please, let us begin. Small again, a repetition of last night's, but at least we have food. Many out there have none, nor have we any to share with them; this is the end of our bread and ham, and there remain only three boiled chicken eggs."

"Oh!" I nodded toward my plate. "This is bigger than ever I ate afore you took me in. Shouldn't we save some of this?"

He chuckled. "Nay, lad, eat it up and enjoy. We shall replenish at the market in Deptford, and this evening we will sit here and to dine large and cooked."

"Cooked?" I glanced around the crowded barge. "Where? There's no place to cook here."

"I have a burnt house up Deptford Creek, and its hearth still stands."

"Burnt? How?"

"The tenants blamed sparks from a neighbour." Captain grimaced. "But the wind was wrong for that, and none of the near neighbours had a fire alight. Appears the mistress left the fire burning while she went to market."

"Did you tell them you knew?"

"No need. They realised."

"Then, they owe you a house."

Captain paused a bite short of his mouth and shook his head. "Nay, lad. They lost everything in the fire, and that is punishment enough. Besides, I still have the land, which has far more value than what was upon it. And I have other houses."

I nodded, remembering the ones up Saint Mary Hill and along Thames Street. "How many?"

He paused a long while, pursing his lips, then shrugging, he said, "Eleven in London and seven in Deptford – plus the burnt one."

"Oh! Why so many?"

"Most cannot afford to build their own, so they must lease or rent."

"Like we did with the garret."

"Indeed. If those with means do not build and offer houses, many would be homeless."

I pointed forward. "Like so many now with this fire."

He sighed. "Aye, there will be hundreds. But worse; with their places of employment destroyed, many will be without work." He nodded toward the clock and lifted his fork. "But we must hasten to finish here. We need a proper tide to make it up the creek, and I reckon high will be about half ten."[2]

When we finished eating, I followed Captain's instructions and began untying the edge of a tarpawling. Then with it out of the way, I saw how huge was the crowd of boats and barges moored all along the embankment. The extent of this had been hidden in the dark when we arrived. Nor had I seen but a hint of the masses of people ashore. With barely a space between them, sitting and lying amongst their boxes, bags and bundles, they had spent the night with neither bed nor roof.

And we had such grand comfort.

With the tarpawlings removed and stowed, we hoisted the sails and released Bessy from her moorings. Then as she turned in the wind to head downriver, we stared at the conflagration. After a long silence, I said, "I've watched fires afore many times, but not ever this big. A few houses, half a street, sometimes a whole street and across the mews. But never like this."

"Aye, lad. Nor had I seen one such. And with the wind, it continues to grow.." He swept his hand past the crowds in the boats and ashore. "And they can do nought but watch."

Notes:
[1] A goatskin in this context was a leather bag to carry drinking water, and this use dates back more than five thousand years, though this English word for it dates only to the fourteenth century.
[2] The English use half ten to mean half-past ten. Elsewhere in Europe, it means halfway to ten, or half-past nine.